Recent History
For the current cycle and season please see the calendar on the community tab. Many of the houses maintain personal historical accounts on their respective forums.
For the current cycle and season please see the calendar on the community tab. Many of the houses maintain personal historical accounts on their respective forums.
- 209 Growing Cycle
The Spring Sickness first appears, sweeping through all major port cities. King's Landing, Oldtown, Lannisport, White Harbor.. all are closed almost immediately to stave off troubles. It didn't work. A man could be healthy in the morning and dead by nightfall, so quickly the sickness stuck. - 209 Harvest Cycle
The sickness spreads, roads closing in Dorne and the Vale, Gulltown is burned to stop the spreading, and even more are burned within King's Landing... including the Dragons. House Targaryen, House Velaryon, the small council, the Kingsguard, the Faith, and the Citadel are not spared. All fall. Ravens go out to every paramount house, calling the Lords and their most trusted banners to a small inn at the crossroads. - 209-210 Fallow Cycle
The sickness begins to abate, having run its course and taken nearly a fourth of the population with it. Young and old, man and woman, noble and common, all were touched in some way by the spindly fingers of the Stranger's Gift. Lords perished in their beds, farmers in their fields, and finally... the paramounts of the realm met at the Inn at the Crossroads in the Riverlands. Lord Mica Tully hosted them all, each region setting up an encampment around the Inn. It was Lord Benedict Tyrell, however, who took the intiative and called the first meeting of the Great Council. Many lords refused to be considered, some suggested parting ways and becoming separate Kingdoms again. Lord Durran Baratheon and his twin brother Vibius, both removed House Baratheon from the deliberations. Lord Benedict Tyrell soon followed. It was Lord Mors Arryn who put his name up first, along with a list of demands for the next ruler. Among the demands was that it would need be sanctioned by the Most Devout, thereby removing Lord Wulfric Stark, a follower of the Old Gods, from the runnings. Two clear contenders emerged, Lord Mors Arryn, and Lord Tyran Lannister, the youngest of all the Lords Paramount.
The meetings were held monthly, with little change, until curiously both Durran Baratheon and Vibius Baratheon ran off in the middle of the night. Days later, it was found that they were showing signs of the Spring Sickness, and rather than infect the entire camp, they rode away, only to perish. Lord Nathaniel Baratheon, a fourth son, rose to power... and then put his name in the running, claiming a blood right.
The other lords laughed, refused the claim, but Lord Baratheon persisted. Soon after, word came that Lord Mors Arryn was accused of Kinslaying. While rumors surrounded the claim, Lord Wulfric Stark, armed with his Northern Cavalry, rode out to meet him in combat. Mors the Kinslayer was beheaded, his brother Carver killed in a mountain clan attack, and his cousin Jasper given the title of Lord Arryn, leaving only Lord Baratheon, and Lord Lannister in the running for the throne.
Finally, after months of deliberation, a clear ruler was chosen. By unanimous vote of the Lords of the realm, Tyran Lannister was named as the new King of the Seven Kingdoms. - 210 Planting Cycle
The season began with festivities. The coronation of Lannister, first of his name, and his chosen Queen Ariella Lannister nee Tully as well as parties, weddings, meetings, and the naming of the new Small Council. On it was Lord Wulfric Stark, as Master of Law, Lord Erik Reyne as Master of Coin, Lord Amir Martell as Master of Whispers, Lord Rurik Redwyne as Master of Ships, and finally Lord Owen Dayne as Hand of the King.
During the coronation the heir to Highgarden, Reid Tyrell, stepped forward to be the first to take the White and join the Kingsguard. Named as Lord Commander, many speculated if this new duty was truly only a way for the Lannsters to gain more power by eliminating the heir to Tyrell.
Weddings began, sealing alliances that were made during the political machinations of the previous season. Among them, were Lord Benedict Tyrell to the King's sister, Lysa Lannister, and Lord Nathaniel Baratheon to Ophelia Tyrell, the only daughter of Lord Tyrell. The match alone made some uneasy, but the beginning of troubles was seen clearly when Lord Symeon Yronwood gifted the new Lord and Lady Baratheon with a gift symbolic of the battles between the Stormlands and Dorne.
A joust was announced, in celebration of the coronation of the King. Ser Reid Tyrell, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard won the joust, naming the Princess Sofia Martell as the Queen of Love and Beauty. During the tilts the bells rang out from on top of the Sept. The last time they had rang, it heralded the death of a King, this time, it was for a birth. Queen Ariella had given birth to her first child, Tommen, who was proclaimed Prince Tommen Lannister, heir to the Iron Throne, and Lord of Dragonstone. The royal line was secure once more. The reign of the Lion and his Red Queen had begun.
The Iron Throne Inception Story
This is the original sim story for our sim as submitted by region leads.
The year is 209AC. The Seven Kingdoms are in turmoil as the Great Spring Sickness ravages the realms and decimates the populations of Westeros's most powerful and populous cities.
White Harbor. Lannisport. Oldtown. King's Landing.
Charnel houses.
Beautiful spring weather stands in jarring contrast to the pall of mourning, and the songbirds' sweet voices are drowned by the cacophony of carrion eaters picking rotting corpses to the marrow.
Lords and ladies perish alongside the common born, and the gods spare none. The royal family falls, along with their dragons. The Targaryens' two-hundred year dynasty shatters under the weight of a grieving realm. With the economy crippled and travel too dangerous for any save the bold, revolt seems imminent.
While the streets of the capital lay drenched in the gore of disease and few Silent Sisters live to bury the dead, a temporary encampment is erected around the inn at the crossroads near Lord Harroway's Town. Envoys from each Great House gather to discuss the future of the kingdom, each with their own pavilion, entourage, and motivations. Around this seeming oasis teem the desperate, the hungry, and the ambitious, circling the wealthy and powerful like vultures, awaiting their time to strike. The weak will fall, and the strong will rise. Alliances and enmities form that will determine whether this new era is one of peace or war.
Every decision, every manipulation, every man of honor deceived by his brother and every foolish young lord led astray by a beautiful face in the end present but one pressing question...
Who will take the Iron Throne?
This is the original sim story for our sim as submitted by region leads.
The year is 209AC. The Seven Kingdoms are in turmoil as the Great Spring Sickness ravages the realms and decimates the populations of Westeros's most powerful and populous cities.
White Harbor. Lannisport. Oldtown. King's Landing.
Charnel houses.
Beautiful spring weather stands in jarring contrast to the pall of mourning, and the songbirds' sweet voices are drowned by the cacophony of carrion eaters picking rotting corpses to the marrow.
Lords and ladies perish alongside the common born, and the gods spare none. The royal family falls, along with their dragons. The Targaryens' two-hundred year dynasty shatters under the weight of a grieving realm. With the economy crippled and travel too dangerous for any save the bold, revolt seems imminent.
While the streets of the capital lay drenched in the gore of disease and few Silent Sisters live to bury the dead, a temporary encampment is erected around the inn at the crossroads near Lord Harroway's Town. Envoys from each Great House gather to discuss the future of the kingdom, each with their own pavilion, entourage, and motivations. Around this seeming oasis teem the desperate, the hungry, and the ambitious, circling the wealthy and powerful like vultures, awaiting their time to strike. The weak will fall, and the strong will rise. Alliances and enmities form that will determine whether this new era is one of peace or war.
Every decision, every manipulation, every man of honor deceived by his brother and every foolish young lord led astray by a beautiful face in the end present but one pressing question...
Who will take the Iron Throne?
The Smallfolk
209AC
King's Landing. Fleabottom
No longer did sweet songs and children's laughter drown out the harsh life for the smallfolk of King's Landing. They were replaced by screams, prayers, and the stench of the dead. The Great Spring Sickness took nobles and commoners alike, but with no maesters to aid them, and no remedies to cure them, only the strong of the low born would survive. Entire households perished, the market stalls left with barely a soul alive to attend them.
Every night the bodies were carted off, taken from the festering pits of Fleabottom to be burned. The ones who survived were told to count themselves lucky. But luck was never much a part of their lives, was it? It was easy to slip into the life of a commoner. Easy to accept things for how they were. Only nothing was easy now. Everything was different.
Nearly all that survived would travel to the encampment at the crossroads. For even if they harbored resentment, without nobles what were they to be? Butchers and whores alike were scraping to survive. Voices were rising among those deemed unimportant, and each word spoken it seemed another one followed. Dire circumstances often probe dire actions, and the talks among the smallfolk were teetering on the edge of a rebellion. Will those born so low rise from the shadows to strike when the time is prime and their betters weakened? Or, will they take their place behind them, below them, to serve them?
209AC
King's Landing. Fleabottom
No longer did sweet songs and children's laughter drown out the harsh life for the smallfolk of King's Landing. They were replaced by screams, prayers, and the stench of the dead. The Great Spring Sickness took nobles and commoners alike, but with no maesters to aid them, and no remedies to cure them, only the strong of the low born would survive. Entire households perished, the market stalls left with barely a soul alive to attend them.
Every night the bodies were carted off, taken from the festering pits of Fleabottom to be burned. The ones who survived were told to count themselves lucky. But luck was never much a part of their lives, was it? It was easy to slip into the life of a commoner. Easy to accept things for how they were. Only nothing was easy now. Everything was different.
Nearly all that survived would travel to the encampment at the crossroads. For even if they harbored resentment, without nobles what were they to be? Butchers and whores alike were scraping to survive. Voices were rising among those deemed unimportant, and each word spoken it seemed another one followed. Dire circumstances often probe dire actions, and the talks among the smallfolk were teetering on the edge of a rebellion. Will those born so low rise from the shadows to strike when the time is prime and their betters weakened? Or, will they take their place behind them, below them, to serve them?
The North
Following a long winter that trapped women and children at home and kept warriors away from their hearths in the endless Winter War against desperate Wildlings, Skagosi, and Ironborn, the spring thaws finally arrived at the beginning of 209AC. Rejoicing swept through the region as everyone from elderly widows to little boys greeted the growing warmth with faces upturned to the sun, those old women welcoming their last spring and the little boys their first. But the joy is short lived, for as the roads open once more to travel from the south, with the peddlers and traders comes the Great Spring Sickness.
While the North's vast expanse suffers less than more widely traveled and densely populated regions, White Harbor and Winter Town are struck hard with 1 in 10 falling to the sickness. Funeral pyres stand at crossroads heaped with bones, smoldering and reeking, their smoke and stench a constant accompaniment to those in the lands of Manderly and Stark. The loss of trade is crippling for those in need of certain goods the North does not manufacture; those needing new steel to reforge plows or nourishing fruit and vegetables to beat back illness are out of luck.
When word arrives that the Targaryens and their dragons have perished of the same plague, it is followed by a raven calling for the presence of Lord Stark and a retinue of advisors to travel to the Inn at the Crossroads near Lord Harroway's Town off the Kingsroad in the Riverlands. There, a pavilion will be erected and negotiations begun for who will be next King of Westeros.
Only two hundred years ago did Torrhen Stark, last King of Winter, bend the knee to the Targaryen dragons. With the dragons dead and the Targaryen dynasty finished, will House Stark once more reclaim independence or throw its weight behind a new aspirant to the Iron Throne?
With recent ties to Arryn and Tully, House Stark arrives at the Crossroads opposed to Dornish or Reach rule, finding those two regions too foreign to their own mindset and philosophy.
The cost of travel south is steep though; Lord Stark and his Tully wife lose their two youngest children to the sickness on the Kingsroad and enter the encampment clad in mourning garb, a somber presence amid the colorful tents of other houses. This time, it was not the Winter's coming that promised death, but the spring's.
Following a long winter that trapped women and children at home and kept warriors away from their hearths in the endless Winter War against desperate Wildlings, Skagosi, and Ironborn, the spring thaws finally arrived at the beginning of 209AC. Rejoicing swept through the region as everyone from elderly widows to little boys greeted the growing warmth with faces upturned to the sun, those old women welcoming their last spring and the little boys their first. But the joy is short lived, for as the roads open once more to travel from the south, with the peddlers and traders comes the Great Spring Sickness.
While the North's vast expanse suffers less than more widely traveled and densely populated regions, White Harbor and Winter Town are struck hard with 1 in 10 falling to the sickness. Funeral pyres stand at crossroads heaped with bones, smoldering and reeking, their smoke and stench a constant accompaniment to those in the lands of Manderly and Stark. The loss of trade is crippling for those in need of certain goods the North does not manufacture; those needing new steel to reforge plows or nourishing fruit and vegetables to beat back illness are out of luck.
When word arrives that the Targaryens and their dragons have perished of the same plague, it is followed by a raven calling for the presence of Lord Stark and a retinue of advisors to travel to the Inn at the Crossroads near Lord Harroway's Town off the Kingsroad in the Riverlands. There, a pavilion will be erected and negotiations begun for who will be next King of Westeros.
Only two hundred years ago did Torrhen Stark, last King of Winter, bend the knee to the Targaryen dragons. With the dragons dead and the Targaryen dynasty finished, will House Stark once more reclaim independence or throw its weight behind a new aspirant to the Iron Throne?
With recent ties to Arryn and Tully, House Stark arrives at the Crossroads opposed to Dornish or Reach rule, finding those two regions too foreign to their own mindset and philosophy.
The cost of travel south is steep though; Lord Stark and his Tully wife lose their two youngest children to the sickness on the Kingsroad and enter the encampment clad in mourning garb, a somber presence amid the colorful tents of other houses. This time, it was not the Winter's coming that promised death, but the spring's.
The Westerlands
209 - Casterly Rock
Lannisport is decimated. Where once trade flourished and pikemen were trained and drilled to accuracy, the streets sound hollow like the wind through the gold mines.
As spring flourished in the Westerlands, the mountains melted their snow, life began to renew, and hope was promised. With the alliance between the Riverlands, and with their previous alliance with the Reach, the Lords of the Rock were spared having to eat gold.
Still sitting on a mountain of wealth, the sickness slowed their mining and production while it ravaged the countryside, and in particular, Lannisport.
With it, the Shield of Lannisport became ill, falling to the same sickness that would bring the dragons down.
An entourage was chosen to head to the Riverlands, to choose their new king, or perhaps.. strike out on their own.
On the way they receive word of their Lord dying from the sickness, and the family bereaved, must now forge alliances, strengthen old ones, and choose their place in this new world.
Strongly opposed to Arryn rule, who were saved from the plague but incited jealousy within the greedy Lions, they have a clear mission.
Ensure the Lannister worth is recognized, rebuild their populace and army, and maintain the strong values their house was built upon.
They always pay their debts.
209 - Casterly Rock
Lannisport is decimated. Where once trade flourished and pikemen were trained and drilled to accuracy, the streets sound hollow like the wind through the gold mines.
As spring flourished in the Westerlands, the mountains melted their snow, life began to renew, and hope was promised. With the alliance between the Riverlands, and with their previous alliance with the Reach, the Lords of the Rock were spared having to eat gold.
Still sitting on a mountain of wealth, the sickness slowed their mining and production while it ravaged the countryside, and in particular, Lannisport.
With it, the Shield of Lannisport became ill, falling to the same sickness that would bring the dragons down.
An entourage was chosen to head to the Riverlands, to choose their new king, or perhaps.. strike out on their own.
On the way they receive word of their Lord dying from the sickness, and the family bereaved, must now forge alliances, strengthen old ones, and choose their place in this new world.
Strongly opposed to Arryn rule, who were saved from the plague but incited jealousy within the greedy Lions, they have a clear mission.
Ensure the Lannister worth is recognized, rebuild their populace and army, and maintain the strong values their house was built upon.
They always pay their debts.
The Reach
Given the houses of The Reach were the main purveyors of food in Westeros, the roads that usually distributed supplies for the rest of country, quickly spread the Spring Sickness instead. Along its veins it run, striking its heart: Oldtown. The ancient city was by the year 209 AL an unsightly, devastated port. A ghost town, which hosted a few hundred people, mostly the last infested and the mourners who cried at their side. Highgarden, together with Cider Hall were the two other cities that had been also greatly affected since The Mander kept bringing corpses to their shores, infesting their lands, their water, their harvests.
It was the worst of times.
Times that made Reachlanders seek refuge in ‘clean’ lands, away from the unforgiving sickness that spread faster than influence in the halls of the Red Keep. Lords had to leave their seats to gather either in Grassy Vale or Appleton, where the decease had not expanded, forcing most of their servants and guards to remain guarding their keeps. When the lords returned, they would find all the people left behind dead, rotting in their majestic halls and the beds of their masters. The aftermath left The Reach with its entirely population diminished by a quarter, though in the case of the commoners, this number increased to one dead every two alive.
Old and strong alliances with the Stormlands and the Westerlands were tested, for not only did the Lord Paramount of The Reach seek help from his counterparts, but he too had to ensure that the less food harvested had to be shared with the other two regions. The ones who suffered the most were of course the local smallfolk, who more frequently than not intercepted the convoys and stole supplies, after brutally killing the drovers. Busy with having to survive and feed the few that could be fed, the lords had to overlook crime and most punishments had to be postponed. It was, in way, no man’s land.
When the sickness reached its peak and eventually died, Lord Tyrell declared an amnesty in which most crimes would remain unpunished, given the state of emergency lived in the region. The lords were ready to forget the killings of their vassals and farmers by the hand of the most hungry, but the commoners who were forced to starve, were not convinced that fairness would be on the way. In a proselytizing campaign with no parallel, and as he walked among the dead, the Lord Paramount promised not only food for the poor, but ennoblement for the prominent common people who would go far and beyond to help the Reach prosper and keep the peace between high and base born. It was the most concrete and promising opportunity in decades for influential, baseborn leaders to emerge.
And while they no longer had the Spring Sickness to fight, there were a few powerful foes to deal with. Perhaps the most relevant being the Riverlands, a region they kept confronting due to the high taxes they demanded to let The Reach’s convoys traverse their lands. High taxes that of course Lord Tyrell reciprocated, given they both competed to fuel Westeros after one of the most brutal of tragedies.
Given the houses of The Reach were the main purveyors of food in Westeros, the roads that usually distributed supplies for the rest of country, quickly spread the Spring Sickness instead. Along its veins it run, striking its heart: Oldtown. The ancient city was by the year 209 AL an unsightly, devastated port. A ghost town, which hosted a few hundred people, mostly the last infested and the mourners who cried at their side. Highgarden, together with Cider Hall were the two other cities that had been also greatly affected since The Mander kept bringing corpses to their shores, infesting their lands, their water, their harvests.
It was the worst of times.
Times that made Reachlanders seek refuge in ‘clean’ lands, away from the unforgiving sickness that spread faster than influence in the halls of the Red Keep. Lords had to leave their seats to gather either in Grassy Vale or Appleton, where the decease had not expanded, forcing most of their servants and guards to remain guarding their keeps. When the lords returned, they would find all the people left behind dead, rotting in their majestic halls and the beds of their masters. The aftermath left The Reach with its entirely population diminished by a quarter, though in the case of the commoners, this number increased to one dead every two alive.
Old and strong alliances with the Stormlands and the Westerlands were tested, for not only did the Lord Paramount of The Reach seek help from his counterparts, but he too had to ensure that the less food harvested had to be shared with the other two regions. The ones who suffered the most were of course the local smallfolk, who more frequently than not intercepted the convoys and stole supplies, after brutally killing the drovers. Busy with having to survive and feed the few that could be fed, the lords had to overlook crime and most punishments had to be postponed. It was, in way, no man’s land.
When the sickness reached its peak and eventually died, Lord Tyrell declared an amnesty in which most crimes would remain unpunished, given the state of emergency lived in the region. The lords were ready to forget the killings of their vassals and farmers by the hand of the most hungry, but the commoners who were forced to starve, were not convinced that fairness would be on the way. In a proselytizing campaign with no parallel, and as he walked among the dead, the Lord Paramount promised not only food for the poor, but ennoblement for the prominent common people who would go far and beyond to help the Reach prosper and keep the peace between high and base born. It was the most concrete and promising opportunity in decades for influential, baseborn leaders to emerge.
And while they no longer had the Spring Sickness to fight, there were a few powerful foes to deal with. Perhaps the most relevant being the Riverlands, a region they kept confronting due to the high taxes they demanded to let The Reach’s convoys traverse their lands. High taxes that of course Lord Tyrell reciprocated, given they both competed to fuel Westeros after one of the most brutal of tragedies.
The Vale
The end of the long winter meant many a great thing for The Vale. The beginning of a new rotation of crops, a chance for trade to flourish once more with the seas no no longer choked with ice, and of course the all important return to their seat by the Arryns, the Eyrie. Preparations were under way when a raven arrived, sent by the Citadel of Oldtown, described a sickness to the south, one which was spreading rapidly.
Mors Arryn consulted with his family's maester on the matter, heeding the wise words of the chained maester, he sent ravens of his own.
The Vale was to be closed. Naturally protected by the nigh impassable mountains surrounding the land, patrols were sent out past the Bloody Gate. Deterring traders, wanderers, and refugees seeking haven in the The Vale. By force if necessary.
The patrols were coordinated by Carver Arryn, Lord Marshal and Protector of The Vale, ranging form Gulltown to The Bite. Anyone with signs of sickness, anyone moving too far east from the Kingsroad, anyone who objected, were killed. Their bodies burnt. Naturally, the precautions taken by Mors Arryn worked.
The Valemen didn't limit themselves to simply stopping foot traffic. Earlier, and likely, less safe than intended. The Arryns returned to the Eyrie. Sending invitations to their bannermen to join them. Maester Edrec, after all, had said that cold is the best way to avoid sickness. The Eyrie was still nearly frozen, the spring thaw had only just begun. The Arryns and many of their banner lords, the highborn of the Vale, the renowned knights, the wealthy, and the lucky servant attending those with invitations, were spared the Great Spring Sickness, though they had suffered several months of cold high up above the possibly spreading plague.
Lord Mors Arryn issued orders from the Eyrie. The ports were to close. From the Sisters to Gulltown. No trade, no contact with outside vessels. Fishing vessels that wandered too close or trading vessels that were desperate for a port were sunk without mercy. Despite the iron handed measures taken by the Valemen. There is always a weak link in the chain. That link proved to be the Arryns of Gulltown. Those greedy cousins, leaned heavily upon the Grafton, convincing them to let trading vessels through the blockade. As it went, the plague struck the port city.
Upon hearing of this, Mors Arryn relieved Lord Grafton of his duty in commanding the important port city. Sending Ser Carver Arryn to keep any fleeing the port city from traveling anywhere but to the sea. The men of the Sisters, with their dark reputations were also called up. Loosening their blockades of the Sister Islands, they sailed south to place Gulltown under a full siege and blockade.
The measures prevented the spread of the plague beyond the port town, well, in any major way. There are always exceptions to the rule. The Vale has always and will always be largely self reliant. A kingdom unto itself. Fertile valleys keep the people fed, vast mountain ranges keep them protected. So the Vale was largely untouched in comparison to many other regions of the Seven Kingdoms.
Alliances to the north and trade with the Stormlands, assured the Valemen relative peace during this calamity. Ties to these strong regions and the invaluable defenses of The Vale, ensured that the Valemen would not be marched upon during the disaster.
That doesn't mean they weren't completely unscathed. Gulltown suffered greatly from the plague. In his wrath, Mors Arryn had his cousin the dispossessed lord of the Arryns of Gulltown, walk through the streets and embrace every corpse, every suffering soon-to-be corpse, and sick denizen of Gulltown. The Fool's Walk, lasted fourteen long hours, with frequent pauses for the lord to stop, embrace, and apologize to those who suffered for his greed. By the end of the march, the guardsmen assigned to ensure the walk was conducted and the lord himself were near dead. The lord was executed by the plague he helped to spread. Large swaths of Gulltown were reduced to cinders afterward.
Smoke still rises from Gulltown, when news of the meeting at The Crossroads reaches the Arryns. Of course, they will go. Of course they will make their claim.
Honor demands it.
The end of the long winter meant many a great thing for The Vale. The beginning of a new rotation of crops, a chance for trade to flourish once more with the seas no no longer choked with ice, and of course the all important return to their seat by the Arryns, the Eyrie. Preparations were under way when a raven arrived, sent by the Citadel of Oldtown, described a sickness to the south, one which was spreading rapidly.
Mors Arryn consulted with his family's maester on the matter, heeding the wise words of the chained maester, he sent ravens of his own.
The Vale was to be closed. Naturally protected by the nigh impassable mountains surrounding the land, patrols were sent out past the Bloody Gate. Deterring traders, wanderers, and refugees seeking haven in the The Vale. By force if necessary.
The patrols were coordinated by Carver Arryn, Lord Marshal and Protector of The Vale, ranging form Gulltown to The Bite. Anyone with signs of sickness, anyone moving too far east from the Kingsroad, anyone who objected, were killed. Their bodies burnt. Naturally, the precautions taken by Mors Arryn worked.
The Valemen didn't limit themselves to simply stopping foot traffic. Earlier, and likely, less safe than intended. The Arryns returned to the Eyrie. Sending invitations to their bannermen to join them. Maester Edrec, after all, had said that cold is the best way to avoid sickness. The Eyrie was still nearly frozen, the spring thaw had only just begun. The Arryns and many of their banner lords, the highborn of the Vale, the renowned knights, the wealthy, and the lucky servant attending those with invitations, were spared the Great Spring Sickness, though they had suffered several months of cold high up above the possibly spreading plague.
Lord Mors Arryn issued orders from the Eyrie. The ports were to close. From the Sisters to Gulltown. No trade, no contact with outside vessels. Fishing vessels that wandered too close or trading vessels that were desperate for a port were sunk without mercy. Despite the iron handed measures taken by the Valemen. There is always a weak link in the chain. That link proved to be the Arryns of Gulltown. Those greedy cousins, leaned heavily upon the Grafton, convincing them to let trading vessels through the blockade. As it went, the plague struck the port city.
Upon hearing of this, Mors Arryn relieved Lord Grafton of his duty in commanding the important port city. Sending Ser Carver Arryn to keep any fleeing the port city from traveling anywhere but to the sea. The men of the Sisters, with their dark reputations were also called up. Loosening their blockades of the Sister Islands, they sailed south to place Gulltown under a full siege and blockade.
The measures prevented the spread of the plague beyond the port town, well, in any major way. There are always exceptions to the rule. The Vale has always and will always be largely self reliant. A kingdom unto itself. Fertile valleys keep the people fed, vast mountain ranges keep them protected. So the Vale was largely untouched in comparison to many other regions of the Seven Kingdoms.
Alliances to the north and trade with the Stormlands, assured the Valemen relative peace during this calamity. Ties to these strong regions and the invaluable defenses of The Vale, ensured that the Valemen would not be marched upon during the disaster.
That doesn't mean they weren't completely unscathed. Gulltown suffered greatly from the plague. In his wrath, Mors Arryn had his cousin the dispossessed lord of the Arryns of Gulltown, walk through the streets and embrace every corpse, every suffering soon-to-be corpse, and sick denizen of Gulltown. The Fool's Walk, lasted fourteen long hours, with frequent pauses for the lord to stop, embrace, and apologize to those who suffered for his greed. By the end of the march, the guardsmen assigned to ensure the walk was conducted and the lord himself were near dead. The lord was executed by the plague he helped to spread. Large swaths of Gulltown were reduced to cinders afterward.
Smoke still rises from Gulltown, when news of the meeting at The Crossroads reaches the Arryns. Of course, they will go. Of course they will make their claim.
Honor demands it.
The Stormlands
A world untouched and unchanged by time. A land named for the fierce nature of its climate. Dark titan skies generate storms greater than any Westeros has ever known. The rains fall against the earth in an almost constant downpour. Lighting storms light up the sky where the sun and moon can not. And the great thunder of the Stormlands can be heard as far North as the Kingswood, echoing east into the Narrow Sea, and even south to the Red Mountains that blockade Dorne from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. To the east there is a fierce sea at storm vowing to swallow whatever may dare to traverse it. A natural phenomenon of beauty, capable of great destruction.
And no greater destruction had befallen the Stormlands than that of the plague of 209 AC.
The Bucklers of Bronzegate closed the Kingsroad down for regular travel with the intent to keep the sickness contained. Meanwhile, south into the Boneway, patrols are doubled as tensions rise against the age-old enemies of the Stormlords; the Dornish who have only recently been united to the realm under the Targaryens. Storm's End itself is closed off from visitors as disease spreads from the Rainwood. Yet all attempts to ward off the Spring Sickness fail and Storm's End is hit harder than anticipated.
And not even its Lord is spared from the wrath of the plague.
Durran Baratheon, now-styled Lord of Storm's End, arrives to burn his Lord father Baelor, his younger brother Tyton, and the multitude of smallfolk that had succumbed. When this was complete, he packs his family and travels north into the Riverlands toward Lord Harroway's Town to discuss the future of the Realm. But days upon coming to the Crossroads, Lord Durran disappears without a word to any. In his wake, Vibius Baratheon, Durran's twin would represent the Stormlands at the First Great Council. That is, until he too left Lord Harroway's town with no explanation. Nathaniel arrives the day after that Council, and is present in to reive the the raven from Storm's End that would change all: Durran had retired home to die, having contracted the sickness in the Riverlands, and word of Vibius dying at an inn in the Riverlands in a drunken duel. With the letter, Nathaniel Baratheon is named Lord Paramount just as the new year dawns and a new era is ushered in. Whether it is an era for the House Baratheon to rejoice or despair, only time will tell.
A world untouched and unchanged by time. A land named for the fierce nature of its climate. Dark titan skies generate storms greater than any Westeros has ever known. The rains fall against the earth in an almost constant downpour. Lighting storms light up the sky where the sun and moon can not. And the great thunder of the Stormlands can be heard as far North as the Kingswood, echoing east into the Narrow Sea, and even south to the Red Mountains that blockade Dorne from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. To the east there is a fierce sea at storm vowing to swallow whatever may dare to traverse it. A natural phenomenon of beauty, capable of great destruction.
And no greater destruction had befallen the Stormlands than that of the plague of 209 AC.
The Bucklers of Bronzegate closed the Kingsroad down for regular travel with the intent to keep the sickness contained. Meanwhile, south into the Boneway, patrols are doubled as tensions rise against the age-old enemies of the Stormlords; the Dornish who have only recently been united to the realm under the Targaryens. Storm's End itself is closed off from visitors as disease spreads from the Rainwood. Yet all attempts to ward off the Spring Sickness fail and Storm's End is hit harder than anticipated.
And not even its Lord is spared from the wrath of the plague.
Durran Baratheon, now-styled Lord of Storm's End, arrives to burn his Lord father Baelor, his younger brother Tyton, and the multitude of smallfolk that had succumbed. When this was complete, he packs his family and travels north into the Riverlands toward Lord Harroway's Town to discuss the future of the Realm. But days upon coming to the Crossroads, Lord Durran disappears without a word to any. In his wake, Vibius Baratheon, Durran's twin would represent the Stormlands at the First Great Council. That is, until he too left Lord Harroway's town with no explanation. Nathaniel arrives the day after that Council, and is present in to reive the the raven from Storm's End that would change all: Durran had retired home to die, having contracted the sickness in the Riverlands, and word of Vibius dying at an inn in the Riverlands in a drunken duel. With the letter, Nathaniel Baratheon is named Lord Paramount just as the new year dawns and a new era is ushered in. Whether it is an era for the House Baratheon to rejoice or despair, only time will tell.
Dorne
Children, high born and base born alike played in the Watergardens as was the tradition. All, from an outsiders point of view seemed right with Dorne, but there were undercurrents of disquiet that stirred even before the Great Spring Sickness struck. It was unusually warm in Sunspear and the court of Prince Maron gathered to remain cool and plan the feast to commemorate the joining of Houses Martell and Targaryen. Little did the Prince nor much of Dorne knew what was to happen, the seeds of which were planted many years before, for revolution was in the winds that signaled the change in seasons in Dorne.
The first news of the Great Spring Sickness reached Sunspear and when more news came shortly after warning of the dread that was to follow, as his advisors suggested Prince Maron acted quickly and closed the roads into Dorne, and closed the ports to any that might ply their trade or travel to these lands. Such actions were not entirely unusual, but soon added to the disquiet that stirred and grew. Distrust of the outsiders, and ever growing news filtered through of the disaster that was befalling the rest of the Realms, this all played into the hands of those plotting revolution.
Finally the great feast arrived, Nobles and Base born both celebrated shadowed by the looming disaster of the north and shadowed more so by the revolution that was about to occur in Dorne. At the height of festivities first Danearys, Princess Consort of Dorne, and then Maron, Prince of Dorne started convulsing after partaking of some wine, poisoned wine. They were soon dead, nothing was to be done for them and in the ensuing panic and chaos the guards loyal to the faction would whisk away their children to 'spare' them from the horror that had fallen their parents. They were murdered that night so completing the coup that put the youngest son Thayne on the throne of Dorne.
The faction now in control of Dorne looked to the North, one that saw them no longer kneel for the Targaryen Masters. They fought for centuries to maintain their independence, and now they would assert that right once again. The disquiet that grew to a fervor around Dorne fueled by the propaganda of the faction was largely sated by the coup. That faction now saw the last remnants of Targaryen rule in the Baratheon's and would look cautiously towards them and their further demise.
Children, high born and base born alike played in the Watergardens as was the tradition. All, from an outsiders point of view seemed right with Dorne, but there were undercurrents of disquiet that stirred even before the Great Spring Sickness struck. It was unusually warm in Sunspear and the court of Prince Maron gathered to remain cool and plan the feast to commemorate the joining of Houses Martell and Targaryen. Little did the Prince nor much of Dorne knew what was to happen, the seeds of which were planted many years before, for revolution was in the winds that signaled the change in seasons in Dorne.
The first news of the Great Spring Sickness reached Sunspear and when more news came shortly after warning of the dread that was to follow, as his advisors suggested Prince Maron acted quickly and closed the roads into Dorne, and closed the ports to any that might ply their trade or travel to these lands. Such actions were not entirely unusual, but soon added to the disquiet that stirred and grew. Distrust of the outsiders, and ever growing news filtered through of the disaster that was befalling the rest of the Realms, this all played into the hands of those plotting revolution.
Finally the great feast arrived, Nobles and Base born both celebrated shadowed by the looming disaster of the north and shadowed more so by the revolution that was about to occur in Dorne. At the height of festivities first Danearys, Princess Consort of Dorne, and then Maron, Prince of Dorne started convulsing after partaking of some wine, poisoned wine. They were soon dead, nothing was to be done for them and in the ensuing panic and chaos the guards loyal to the faction would whisk away their children to 'spare' them from the horror that had fallen their parents. They were murdered that night so completing the coup that put the youngest son Thayne on the throne of Dorne.
The faction now in control of Dorne looked to the North, one that saw them no longer kneel for the Targaryen Masters. They fought for centuries to maintain their independence, and now they would assert that right once again. The disquiet that grew to a fervor around Dorne fueled by the propaganda of the faction was largely sated by the coup. That faction now saw the last remnants of Targaryen rule in the Baratheon's and would look cautiously towards them and their further demise.
The Riverlands
By the time the first sailors dropped dead, it was too late already. Disease spread in the Riverlands through her very veins--the waterways for which she's named--and infiltrated her every crevice. The death toll mounted so swiftly there was scarce time to burn the pestilent bodies before those handling the corpses fell ill. Bloated bodies rot still in distant fields and on remote piers.
Early in 209AC, the Great Spring Sickness cut a swath through the population of the Riverlands, spreading north from King's Landing and east from Lannisport. Traders and Merchants became plague rats, carrying the fatal illness with their wares. Those who did not fall sick still passed the illness on, and the myriad inns, taverns, and teeming docks of the region grew choked with the fallen. Looters robbed the corpses if they were bold, and some of them lay down to die not a quarter mile from the ones they robbed.
The great walls of Harrenhal, Riverrun, and the Twins could not protect them from disease for all that they'd repelled dozens of armies over their ages. Where thousands of armed men could not vanquish, an invisible enemy laid low the mightiest lords of the Riverlands. Merrick Mallister fell, and then Patrek Tully, lord of Riverrun. Orland Mooton resisted three days, an epic feat, before succumbing at last. Brendyn Blackwood lingered an entire week, seeming sure to recover, only to expire when Brom Blackwood grew ill tending him and died, breaking his heart with guilt and grief. Proud lords, all, with wealth and good Maesters, well-fed, well-muscled, now food for worms.
It's those left behind who truly suffer. The hours of misery and fear visited upon the dying are a mercy compared with the reek and privation as the rivers choke on abandoned barges and waterlogged ghasts. Hope, usually synonymous with the Spring, is a forgotten thing this year. The tourneys and feasts for which the fertile, centrally located Riverlands are famed will not take place now. Perhaps never again.
Word comes from the capital of the fall of the Targaryen dynasty. Dead, all of them, like their dragons. There must be a Great Council called, a meeting of all the Lords Paramount, and who will host?
Who else?
By the time the first sailors dropped dead, it was too late already. Disease spread in the Riverlands through her very veins--the waterways for which she's named--and infiltrated her every crevice. The death toll mounted so swiftly there was scarce time to burn the pestilent bodies before those handling the corpses fell ill. Bloated bodies rot still in distant fields and on remote piers.
Early in 209AC, the Great Spring Sickness cut a swath through the population of the Riverlands, spreading north from King's Landing and east from Lannisport. Traders and Merchants became plague rats, carrying the fatal illness with their wares. Those who did not fall sick still passed the illness on, and the myriad inns, taverns, and teeming docks of the region grew choked with the fallen. Looters robbed the corpses if they were bold, and some of them lay down to die not a quarter mile from the ones they robbed.
The great walls of Harrenhal, Riverrun, and the Twins could not protect them from disease for all that they'd repelled dozens of armies over their ages. Where thousands of armed men could not vanquish, an invisible enemy laid low the mightiest lords of the Riverlands. Merrick Mallister fell, and then Patrek Tully, lord of Riverrun. Orland Mooton resisted three days, an epic feat, before succumbing at last. Brendyn Blackwood lingered an entire week, seeming sure to recover, only to expire when Brom Blackwood grew ill tending him and died, breaking his heart with guilt and grief. Proud lords, all, with wealth and good Maesters, well-fed, well-muscled, now food for worms.
It's those left behind who truly suffer. The hours of misery and fear visited upon the dying are a mercy compared with the reek and privation as the rivers choke on abandoned barges and waterlogged ghasts. Hope, usually synonymous with the Spring, is a forgotten thing this year. The tourneys and feasts for which the fertile, centrally located Riverlands are famed will not take place now. Perhaps never again.
Word comes from the capital of the fall of the Targaryen dynasty. Dead, all of them, like their dragons. There must be a Great Council called, a meeting of all the Lords Paramount, and who will host?
Who else?